


whether you like it or not, you've been chosen by god

by autoclavc



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (also dimitri's mother but shes not named oops), Azure Moon Spoilers, Gen, Hallucinations, theyre only referenced, this is more of me being like. so about those 5 years, title from shakey graves's nobody's fool, uh oh vague reference to fuck u cornelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoclavc/pseuds/autoclavc
Summary: the lance is only in dimitri’s hand. the ghost is only a figment.





	whether you like it or not, you've been chosen by god

dimitri barely remembers his birth mother. he knows the little things his father would tell him when he sat on lambert’s knee and begged for a memory. he knows that his mother was about as clumsy as he was, and that she loved rides in the mountains, that she had chosen his middle name after her own father, and that her favorite song was a tavern song sung by a drunk bard when she and lambert had met (he had snuck out of the castle, of course). what dimitri does remember, and it is fleeting, the sort of thing he only remembers when he is half awake in the light of dawn, is her voice. 

_ ‘my little lion, alexandre.’ _ she would speak softly to him in near song. _ ‘shouldn’t you be asleep?’ _

he had been only four or five and he had run off to one of the balconies that overlooked fhirdiad, the moon hanging high in the sky. wanted to look at the lights, he thinks, dimitri doesn’t quite remember, but he remembers the warmth of his mother hand as hers took his and joined him. 

but that is all he remembers of her. 

dimitri remembers, though, how light left his father’s eyes for months after her passing. he doesn’t know what they had told him, only a few months after his only memory had the plague swept through faerghus, that he would never hear his mother’s voice again. he didn’t understand it, at first. how could he? permanence is such a strange thing to a child, and he had called for her hundreds of times. 

patricia treated him kindly enough, though. 

she never seemed to look at him exactly, as if she were searching for someone different in his eyes. 

* * *

dimitri hears both their voices. 

he doesn’t know why, even in that fit of grief, his mother died long before the tragedy. she had died in illness, but in a sort of peace (at least he hopes; later he had learned that they had given her tea of poppy to ease the pain). far from the gruesome deaths at duscur. 

she is still there, though, his mother, begging him _ ‘my little lion, save me. don’t leave me like this, please, alexandre.’ _ she is pale and frail, bones thin and blood splattered lightly at her lips, coughed up. 

patricia only wails, covering her eyes, but her tears overflow and drown him until he can only hear his mother’s voice distorted in the water, a warped melody of _ ‘alexandre, alexandre, alexandre, please’. _

* * *

the ghost’s strings pull on his arms, right up, lance through, strike as sharp as the point of it. glenn’s arm guides his own, a shadow casting over his form. for a moment, he is nine years old, when dimitri would beg of him to teach that technique, and glenn would oblige with a grin hidden behind his scowl. 

the lance is only in dimitri’s hand. the ghost is only a figment. 

his father calls out his steps. a quiet little laugh when he missteps, then a firm '_try again, mitya'_. lambert’s voice creates a melody in the back of his mind, calling each strike, each step, each falling of breath as dimitri alexandre, last of house blaiddyd, runs his lance through the heart of another monster-- a woman, eyes of soft violet, hair of caramel, drowned in armor of pitch black-- with nothing more but a hardened gaze and a huff of breath as her body slumps to the ground unceremoniously. 

he leaves her there, body to rot. 

“for you, el.” he mumbles, blood staining his hands, his armor, his cheeks, his hair. his eyes. blood staining his mind. blood staining his heart. blood staining his soul. “remember what you did? all those people?” 

there is no reason for him to, but he punctures the body one more time. the woman is still breathing. “i’ll do the same to you.” a grin takes over his once gentle smile, blood staining his teeth. “i’ll do worse to you.”


End file.
